The Shoe

by | Dec 4, 2012 | Poetry

 

 

 

 

In the summer of 1972

We took a vacation to Florida.

My father mentioned the separate bathrooms.

My brother, sitting on the beach with his bucket

And shovel, got sunburned so bad

We had to take him to the hospital,

His back a field of blisters.

 

By the time I was ten

I didn’t understand what Walter Cronkite

Was telling the country, but I sensed

My parents’ worry as they listened

To the television or waited for a letter.

 

Once I felt sick to my stomach at school

And someone, I’m not sure who, drove

Me home with another boy.

He was a black kid, and one of his shoes

Had a lift.  We both lay moaning

In the back seat, and then we started

Laughing, then he threw up,

And we laughed harder

Until he buckled over and was dropped off,

And I watched him walk with the shoe,

The thick sole balancing like a raft in choppy water

To his doorstep, and never saw him again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Tantrum Dan

About The Author

Peter Bethanis

Peter Bethanis’s poems, essays, and stories have appeared in Poetry, Tar River Poetry, Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, River Review, Country Journal, and the Indianapolis Star among others.  In 1995 he was selected by James Dickey as winner of the Eve of St. Agnes Poetry Prize.  His poems “American Future” and “Li Hua’s Messenger” have been selected as featured poems on Poetry Magazine’s website.  He has been a finalist in the New Issues Poetry Prize and the National Poetry Series.  His poems have been anthologized in several collections including The Hecht Poetry Anthology and the Mellon Poetry Anthology.  He is the author of two books, Dada and Surrealism for Beginners from Random House and American Future, a collection of poems, from Entasis Press.  He has taught at several universities and is currently a professor in the writing program at Ball State where he has taught for fifteen years.